Interrogation
by cellophane prince
Summary: Kanji mouths off to Dojima, so the detective decides to teach him a lesson. Bathhouse prompt. Hmmmm.


The door slammed behind them as Dojima fell back heavily into his seat. Facing him, again, was the one and only juvenile delinquent this town ever deserved to have and ever would: the Tatsumi kid. Beating up some rabble-rousers keeping his mother up at night. Again.

Dojima looked through the thick air at the fair-haired boy, hunched over in his chair, staring sideways at the floor with an upside-down smirk. Again.

Time has passed, however, and the little punk really wasn't so little anymore.

Dojima breathed out through his nose, setting his cup of black coffee on the table. "You know Kanji, you've really worked hard on piling up these offenses. Don't you think? I mean, they've always been minor ones, but...just imagine how expensive this all must be for your mother."

Kanji shot a scowl at his interviewer before reverting his eyes back to the concrete. "Yeah? You think so?" he said gruffly, pawing at his thighs. "Well somebody oughta be showing those little biker shits their place. "

"We know why you keep getting in trouble," Dojima snapped back shortly, "but there's gotta be an end. We can't keep doing this Kanji, I don't care how. Starting right this second. Has it ever occurred to you that you're causing more trouble than any of this is worth?"

"I don't care," Kanji said. "I'd rather do that than waste my time talking to you."

Dojima slammed a hand on the table, losing his patience. As usual the detective couldn't expect to get much out of him, but dammit, they'd gone in circles enough. "Look, _kid_. I didn't bring you in here again so you could talk shit to me. Just who do you think I am?"

"A fucking useless ASSHOLE, that's what!" Kanji snarled, chest puffing out as he stood up violently from his chair. "If the police even knew how to do their god damn job, none of this would ever happen! Why am I the only one who's doing anything to stomp those bozos from causing shit? Where are the police when we need 'em? Sitting around at Junes with their thumbs up their asses?"

There was a pause for a moment and it was quiet save for the static of Dojima scratching his chin pensively, exasperated. It was always more complicated than a teenager would understand. Hormones all over the place.

"And don't," Kanji began to stammer with adrenaline, pointing a long white finger at the detective, "d-don't fucking call me by my first name! You don't know me! Any shithead can call himself a superior like you, but you're fucking good for nothing, you know that? You ain't got no right! I'd...I oughta beat the shit out of you right now! I don't need you!"

At first, Dojima merely sat back in his hard wooden chair, glancing between his cheap little cup of coffee and the young man in front of him. All hot and bothered. Kanji sat back down and crossed his arms, scowling, still feeling the ringing of his own voice in his head.

They stayed that way for several seconds, tension layered thickly between them in the cramped room. Claustrophobia. Dojima took another drink of his coffee.

"Tatsumi," Dojima said, teeth gritted against the awful flavor.

The youngster refused to meet the eyes of his interrogator, though he could feel them penetrating into his pale flesh.

"I need you to do something for me."

More bullshit, Kanji thought. He grunted.

"See that camera a few feet above your head?"

He glanced up at the cheap silent camcorder the police department must have gotten on discount.

"I want you to reach up and move it facing away." He took another sip of black liquid. The Tatsumi kid had been in that room so often it was unlikely that anyone would be wasting their time observing them.

Kanji stared up at it, arms still crossed, a look of bewilderment barely hidden on his face.

"NOW," Dojima barked so forcefully that Kanji practically jumped from his seat in confusion. "W-why the hell do you want me to do that?" he shot back.

"Just...DO it." Dojima remained fixed firmly in his seat, eyes narrowed. Seeing he had no choice, Kanji reluctantly turned and reached up to the device on the wall. He thought he felt eyes on the sliver of skin that was exposed between his shirt and his pants, then sat back down to the gaze of the detective.

One more swig, then Dojima got up and moved toward his suspect. Before Kanji could shout out any more questions, he began to unbuckle his belt.

"Just because you know my nephew doesn't mean I'll go easy on you," Dojima said darkly. "In fact if anything, I should go _harder_ just to make sure you don't get him into any of your shit."

"Go...harder?" Kanji spat, watching his superior's belt. Ready to strike like a frightened cat.

"Mhmm," Dojima said, his insides secretly grinning with anticipation of something he'd wanted to do for months. "Now, this is how we're going to fix your outburst situation. Let's teach you some manners."

He abruptly grabbed the younger man's scarred knuckles and planted them on his crotch.

"Wh-what?!" Kanji recoiled, twisting in Dojima's firm grip. "Let go of me! The hell do you think you're--?!"

"Nope, not this time, Kanji," Dojima said. He leaned in, his breath tickling the innards of Kanji's ear. "This is something you want. Don't bullshit yourself."

Kanji looked away as he began to process this, suddenly very flustered, cheeks a brilliant shade of pink. _Guilty._

Dojima smirked. He had known about Kanji long enough to have a secret weapon.

"Or are you just gonna chicken out like you did on Detective Shirogane?"

If Kanji's face was red before, it was as hot as a volcano now.

"I...I ain't no chicken!" he snarled, and fumbled quickly with the front of Dojima's pants. He could feel his firm member pulsing through the thin fabric, and as he pulled down on his briefs it burst free, throbbing inches away from his face.

"Well...well how do you want me to do this?!" Kanji asked quickly, nervous. "I mean it's not like I ever...not like I usually..."

"Unhinge your god damn jaw or something, I don't know," Dojima growled.

Kanji scowled. "Well fine, I don't need you to tell me what to do! Just you fucking watch!" With that, he grabbed the base of Dojima's dick and started sucking carefully at first, experimenting with each end with his tongue, then harder, as though it was a Topsicle-eating contest.

After a short while, Dojima clutched the back of the boy's slick hair and began swinging his pelvis rhythmically into Kanji's mouth, wincing once every few minutes--he almost snapped at him to lay off with the biting, before realizing that he liked how it felt. Every so often he'd thrust forward suddenly, and when Kanji would rear backward to choke, Dojima would leave a shining wet trail across his face.

"You like that on your face, huh? You seen that shit in porn, is that right Tatsumi?" Dojima spoke through his teeth, noticing Kanji's concentrated attempts to keep the shaft slippery with saliva as his tongue tickled and sucked on the tip. As Kanji leaned forward and made a grunting noise with the back of his throat--partly response, partly gag reflex--Dojima began to moan, grabbing one of Kanji's rough hands and guiding it up his stomach and chest beneath his dress shirt. In a daze he began to loosen his tie, and realized that he was about to--

"A-alright," Dojima gasped suddenly, yanking his dick away as Kanji reached up to wipe some of the raw wetness from his face. "That's enough mouthing off. Now get up. Get on the table."

"Wh-uh..." Kanji could only muster sputtering noises as he reluctantly seated himself on the stainless steel.

"Kanji," Dojima began condescendingly, "you're doing it wrong."

"...Huh? What?" Kanji frowned.

"First get rid of my coffee cup, and do it nicely."

Slowly, Kanji turned to see the small cup turning cold beside him. "W-well, where the hell do you want it?"

"Anywhere!" Dojima said forcefully. "Get it off!"

As he reached over the table, he accidentally tapped it in his nervousness and its contents went crashing down onto the floor. "Shit!"

Dojima backed up a ways and observed Kanji, deftly managing his dick with one of his hands. "Oh, no, Tatsumi," he began, a small smile playing on his lips as he moved toward the bristling boy. "You're gonna have to pay for that." Stepping between his legs, Dojima grabbed onto Kanji's pants, unzipped them, and pulled them down to the floor swiftly, the teen's veined cock bouncing out from underneath.

Dojima looked at it for a second. Interestingly, he was impressed, but chose to say nothing. Still handling his own privates with one hand, he pushed Kanji down onto the table with the other before spitting into it and massaging it past the soft skin beneath his testicles.

"Bet you like that spit on your ass," Dojima said, before dipping a finger inside.

Lying flat on the table, Kanji made a noise that Dojima couldn't quite place. Was it a sigh? A gurgle? Curious to find out, he slipped in another finger. Then another.

"Tight little fucker," Dojima muttered, before ducking down and sliding his warm tongue between the curvature of Kanji's buttocks. He felt a shiver run up his spine, puckering against the scratchy bristle around Dojima's mouth. Then, suddenly, the big hard spongy mass he had been suckling moments earlier was being pressed inside him.

At first it was a loud, deep groan that rang out from the back of Kanji's throat as he squinted his eyes, but as Dojima's thrusting became more assertive, he felt his dick getting harder than it was before.

It felt like eternity. The first circle of hell was filled with the best pleasure. Kanji's toes curled as Dojima ripped open his shirt, them each grabbing and scratching at any mass of skin they could find. Finally, after Dojima felt they both had their shares of exercise and conversation ("Fuck!" "Oh god!" "Fucking do it!"), he pulled out of Kanji and finished on top of his flexing torso.

It was quiet again, save for the heavy sounds of breathing that seemed to come from every corner of the room. Dojima wiped beads of sweat from his face as he muttered to himself, looking for his god damn pants.

The coffee continued to drip over the side of the table into a puddle on the floor.

"So..." Kanji said somewhat bashfully, face still red, sitting on his elbows and stretching his naked legs, "...this means you ain't gonna call my mom, right sir?"


End file.
